She doesn't have the lightest clue why she bothers looking out the window. There's never a bright day, or one worth admiring. Day by day it's always gray and gloomy, and the rain has started tapping on the outside glass on schedule; like clockwork. Lydia Van Dort simply sighs as she leans back against cold bay window and readjusts herself to sit comfortably on the window seat. The spine of her fathers' book of poems is rough as Lydia runs her finger down it. She opens the book and flips through the pages until she finds her favorite poem by Robert Frost, My Butterfly. Lydia almost finds her choice of poetry amusing given she is surrounded by her father's drawings of butterflies.

One of her father's drawings however takes her eyes off her book, and it's the one she prefers to ignore. A drawing of the alleged woman she is named after, Emily; Lydia Emily Van Dort. The "Corpse Bride" as Lydia has come to know, has been framed and hung along the wall of her fathers' study since she can remember. She can remember as a child asking him about it, but he would never tell her the story. "When you're older," he'd simply say, "when you may be able to understand better". That story as she was told not too long ago, she still can't quite comprehend and a part of her still resents her father for what he did to mother. She still finds herself asking: How could father abandon mother at the alter for a dead woman? So much so he was willing to kill himself for her? Lydia is beside herself that mother would allow father to have it displayed proudly, or to even have drawn it for that matter!

However, since the last time she confronted her father about the dead bride, she has held her tongue and kept her opinions to herself. Her mother and father have never shown any aggression towards each other over the matter, at least they haven't in front of her or her sisters. Lydia however keeps silent mostly because she doesn't want to risk starting anything between her parents, but also partly because she doesn't want her freedom to come and go from her fathers' study to be taken away.

The bay window seat is easily her favorite place in the house, especially for when she takes time to read, and fathers' collection of literature that lines the shelves on the far wall provide her with a vast selection. Her mother has some books she keeps in her bedroom that she brought from Grandfather and Grandmother Everglots house, she'd tell her they were her late Aunt Lavinia's and she wasn't allowed to read them. That was alright by Lydia, she rather liked reading fathers' books, she even enjoys looking through the global atlas and studying the various maps of the world. She'll also often skim through his various books on anthropology.

Fantastic, Lydia thought to herself, not only do I look like father, I also like the things he likes.

Indeed, she looks a lot like her father, so much so that when she was younger it use to disturb Grandma Van Dort. In the last few years however, she has noticed some of her mothers' features gradually come in. Mainly in her facial structure, her cheeks have rounded out a bit, but she still has her fathers' distinctive pointy chin. She is also starting to get her mothers' high cheek bones as she nears her sixteenth birthday.

When that was, the soft mist

Of my regret hung not on all the land,

And I was glad for thee,

And glad for me, I wist.

Lydia stops reading at the end of the stanza and closes the book with her thumb keeping place of her page as the study door opens slowly. On the other side of the door, her mother takes a small step into the doorway and stares at her from across the room.

"Your father and sister's will be coming home soon," she says softly with a smile, "won't you come downstairs and wait for them with me, Lydia?"

Lydia could truly careless to see her father or not, and she could certainly do without seeing her sisters a while longer. She longs for these few times when they are all away, it gives her some time to herself and not have to deal with the drama between them. However, she has never been able to say "no" to her mother.

"Yes, Mother." Lydia mumbles.

Her mother nods, "I'll be in the parlor, dear."

Victoria turns to leave before quickly looking back over her shoulder and Lydia catches her taking a glance over at the "Corpse Bride Drawing" and give a gentle smile in its direction. The door latches shut behind her and Lydia can hear her footsteps become faint as she walks down the hall towards the banister.

Lydia looks over at the drawing. Why? Is all she can think.

She takes her thumb out of the book and closes it before resting it back on the bookshelf and moves towards the study door to join her mother.